


you still there, robot lady?

by sxpphicazula (stolen_arts)



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Artificial Intelligence, F/M, Outer Space, based on mitski's new song 'the baddy man', katara is the only person left to talk to, this is hella sad, zuko is lost in space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:27:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29890788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stolen_arts/pseuds/sxpphicazula
Summary: Zuko is terrified and cold and hurting—but at least he has Katara.
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 86





	you still there, robot lady?

Zuko can’t stop shivering. His jaw shakes. His teeth chatter. His breaths come far too quickly, condensing on the curved screen of his helmet. The universe curves around his vision like tinted glass, far too quiet and far too cold. Space is a vacuum—that’s one of the first things he was taught as a scientist—but the reality of the fact has never felt so tangible. If he were to open the window of this broken tin can, his dying scream wouldn’t make a sound. In the clutches of oblivion, there simply aren’t enough particles for sound waves to travel.

The movies lied to him; out here, there aren’t any pretty sound effects. He almost laughs. Has Azula’s bleakness rubbed off on him? 

As Zuko stares out his shuttle’s bullet-proof window, he tries to zone out the constant beeping of the early-warning system. The hairline fractures spreading across the hull are worsening with every second that passes, but there’s nothing he can do about it. Soon, the only oxygen left in the shuttle will be the air within his goddamn spacesuit. 

Outside the steamed-up window, red dwarfs and neutron stars glisten like hot tears. His head is starting to pound from the oxygen deprivation. He is suddenly twelve again, and his father’s hands are clamped around his throat. He leans forward in his spacesuit and places a gloved hand on the glass before him, gaze locked to the cosmos’ horizon—if such a thing exists. 

His lungs tighten like a coiled fist, and he doubles over. He doesn’t want to die alone. “Katara?” he chokes out. 

At once, a familiar AI voice crackles in his right ear. “Yes, Zuko?” 

He doesn’t know what to say. “Status on the oxygen levels within my suit?” 

“Five per cent and steadily falling.” Abruptly, he nods. He suspected as much. His palm still lies flat on the window, but he makes no effort to move it. It’s grounding. Before he knows it, Katara speaks again: “Zuko, are you aware that you are in critical condition?” 

“Yeah. Thanks, Katara.” 

She pauses. “You don’t seem to be doing anything about it.” 

He wants to make a sarcastic joke, but that wouldn’t be productive. “Well, what _can_ I do?” 

“Fix communications.” If Zuko didn’t know better, he’d think there was a hint of desperation in her usual monotone voice. “You have roughly five minutes of life remaining. By my calculations, you could do it. Why are you stagnant?” 

The external antenna has been in a state of disrepair since the asteroids hit his shuttle. He’s a good engineer, but even he can’t complete a successful space walk with such little oxygen remaining. What the hell would fixing communications do, anyway? He’s light-years away from any semblance of help. “Why should I fix comms?” 

“You could alert Ground Control of your predicament.” 

“They can’t help me. I’m alone.” 

She’s silent for a moment. “May I interject?” 

“Go ahead, K.” 

“It’s strange that you aren’t trying.” 

“Trying?” 

“To live. To survive longer than these waning five minutes. From what I know of humans, you are always so hopeful—so sure of yourselves. So certain of your ability to escape impossible situations. You should not be asking an AI why you should try to survive.” 

“And why shouldn’t I?” 

“Ask me? I—” Katara cuts off, and for a moment he fears she has left him. Then she speaks again, repeating: “I do not understand.” Upon the realisation that she simply didn’t know what to say, Zuko half-smiles; she’s like him. Eventually, she adds, “You would at least get to speak to another human for the final few minutes of your lifespan. Wouldn’t you like some company?” 

Clenching and unclenching his numb fingers, he lets out a ragged breath. “I don’t need to talk to a human. You’re company, aren’t you?” 

“I suppose I am.” 

“So,” he grits out, “talk to me. Please?” For a lingering moment, Katara does not speak. Zuko squeezes his eyes shut before opening them again, every new inhalation more ragged than the previous. Outside, the stars are burning. He has the delirious thought that he wants to be with them, but watching from afar will have to do. “They’re beautiful,” he murmurs. 

“The stars?” she asks, a little derisively. “I’m not surprised that you like them. After all, they’re frequently referred to in human literature.” 

“What do _you_ think of them?” 

“What?” 

“The stars. Do you like them?” 

Katara hums: a strange, mechanic whirring. He wonders where she picked up the habit. “I understand the stars—their formation, their molecular structure. I do not know if that equates to _liking_ them. Under the human eye, I can imagine they are beautiful.” 

“What about under your eyes?” That makes no sense. Zuko’s lips feel cold. He’s leaning against the glass, barely managing to stay upright as the world tilts. His vision has blurred, washing the stars into streaks of raw, formative chemicals and colours. 

“I can’t see them, Zuko. I’m a program; I can’t see anything.” 

His eyes are still open, but only barely. “Do you know what I look like?” 

“In a way. I have your image in my database, but I can’t look upon it. It is simply there.” 

“Oh,” he murmurs. His thoughts are turning to sludge, but he finds that he doesn’t mind. “Tell me something.” 

“What do you wish to know?” 

“Anything. Anything. I—” He shudders and falls to his knees, glove squeaking with friction against the glass. It's easier sitting down. Letting the back of his helmet rest against the shuttle’s metal interior, he closes his eyes. “Talk to me. Read me something about the stars.” 

“I can do that.” She sounds relieved. “There’s a lot of poetry in my database. Any preferences?” 

“No, fuck. You choose. I just want to hear your voice.” 

She pauses, and there’s that whirring sound again. At once, she begins: “ _There will be another one of those loose changes, the rearrangement of hearts, just parts of old lives patched together, gathered into a dim constellation, small consolation._ ” 

Zuko almost scoffs; isn’t this entire charade one long consolation? He couldn’t even fix the goddamn comms. “Keep going,” he implores her. 

“ _Look, we will say, you can almost see the outline there: her fingertips touching his, the faint fusion of two bodies breaking into light_.” As her words echo into Zuko’s consciousness, she adds, “That’s an extract from an Earth poem, circa the twenty-first century. Would you like to hear more?” 

His legs are slumped out before him. He wants to stand, but that requires too much oxygen to even contemplate. Faces blur behind his retinas: Iroh, Mom, Azula. He misses them all—even his unfeeling sister. “No, that’s okay. I think...I think I’m dying.” 

“You would be correct.” 

“I want to stand up.” 

“You cannot. You have roughly one minute of conscious life remaining.” 

“Katara?” When she doesn’t immediately respond, he rasps, “You still there, robot lady?” 

“I’m not technically here,” she tells him. Is that regret in her tone? “But in any sense other than physical—yes, I suppose I’m here.” 

Blood sparks in his mouth, metallic and bitter. How did that get there? “I’m gonna miss you.” 

“You will not.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“You will be dead,” she informs him. “But _I_ will miss _you_ —to the fullest extent that an AI is capable of.” 

Even though he isn’t looking out the window, he can envision the constellations. His body becomes second thought. He whispers, “You don’t have to miss me, Katara.” 

“Incorrect. I’ve formed an attachment to you, Zuko. When you’re gone, I will be alone.” 

His hand lies on his chest. Even now, he can feel his heartbeat waning. “I’m glad you’re with me.” 

“I’m a program. I am not physically with you.” 

“You are.” 

Katara pauses. “I am?” She waits, but no answer arrives. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, I'd love to hear what you thought! if you want to chat, come check out [my tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/sxpphicazula) :)


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